


Asymmetry

by TiggyMalvern



Series: Balance [2]
Category: Trigun
Genre: Angst, Canon - Manga, Established Relationship, Handcuffs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Under-negotiated Kink, these two mean are terrible at dealing with Issues, though it's not actually kink at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 07:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20671400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiggyMalvern/pseuds/TiggyMalvern
Summary: Handcuffs are a regular part of sex now. Vash is dealing with it better than Wolfwood.





	Asymmetry

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to 'Balance.' Takes place shortly before Vash is imprisoned by Knives.  
Heartfelt beta thanks to Renet and Anonymous, as always, and this time also to Nico for adding her invaluable input. Originally published 21 April 2005.

Another hotel room in another dead-end town, watching the smoke from his cigarette swirl upwards past his eyes. He couldn't remember the name of the hotel. It was getting so he could barely remember the names of the towns. 

At least the bed in this place was a hell of a lot better than most. He wriggled against the headboard, settling himself lower, stretching his legs further, and the mattress barely moved. His back was really gonna appreciate this one. Pity it could only be the one night. 

Travel had never been such a bitch. The last few weeks had been one long slog on foot; a night or two in the open, a night in a hotel and then moving again. With Knives pulling more and more weird shit, nobody with even a half-working vehicle was willing to sell, just in case they had to run. The transit companies were folding fast – people weren't real keen on travelling right now, even if the drivers were willing to make the runs. 

They were stuck walking across what felt like half the goddamn planet to get to Knives, and it was taking way too long. And still not long enough. 

The breeze from the window picked up, sweeping across his belly and chest where he'd opened his shirt, cooling over the layer of sweat. God, that felt good. The smoke he exhaled in a stream was ripped away, scattered on the sharp blast of air. He took one last drag from his cigarette and crushed it into the ashtray on the table beside him. 

The handcuffs were there too, coiled by the ashtray, a tangle of pinpoint reflections from the bulb above his head. 

They didn't use them so much now. If it had been a bad day, if they'd had to fight, Vash still wanted them. Either way, they were always there. Vash always put them there. The essential on-hand sex aid, right next to the lube. 

Vash was a stubborn bastard. What Wolfwood wanted didn't matter shit, not when it came to this. 

There were footsteps slapping along the corridor outside, headed for the door. No stress, Wolfwood knowing it was just Vash. He could move near-silent in boots when he wanted, but he made one hell of a noise in bare feet. 

The door opened with a quick, grating squeal of ancient hinge that was already starting to scratch across his nerves. Maybe just having the one night here wasn't so bad after all. But then there was Vash striding in, his body shaped by easy-access jeans and a dark shirt that clung to the dampness along his muscles, and that made this hotel room look one hell of a better prospect. His hair stuck up everywhere in random, drying tufts, leaving Wolfwood with the urge to run his fingers through and tug it straight. 

He reached for his pack of cigarettes. "Shower free?" 

Vash kicked the door closed behind him, no break in the rhythm of his footfalls on the floorboards. "Yeah. Water's not so hot." 

Like that mattered when the air outside was still taut and quivering, edged like Legato in his blazing need to kill Vash. Legato right before Knives crushed him into the dirt. "Good." He didn't want to think about Knives, about Legato. He bent an elbow and rolled up onto it, his skin itching as droplets of sweat rearranged themselves around his neck. Found himself suddenly at eye level with Vash's waist, the mattress tilting him forward some as Vash's weight dropped down onto the edge. Damn, most beds they slept in would have pitched him right off the edge at that. Or, more accurately, right into Vash's body. 

Okay, so saggy mattresses weren't the worst thing he'd lived with. 

He stretched his free arm over Vash, sliding the smokes back onto the table, metallic rattle as the corner of the pack caught against the cuffs. Vash trailed a finger along his chest, slow, anything but casual. Wolfwood licked his lips, wetting them, tasting salt distinct and sharp on his skin. 

He could smell Vash so close up, all shampoo and soap and damp hair. Wolfwood figured he probably stank like a week-dead thomas. It never bothered him much when they were both in the same state, but now Vash's obvious cleanliness made him aware of the grittiness of sand and old sweat that his body had long since grown used to. 

He caught Vash's hand, drew it to his mouth, flicked his tongue around the finger, instant heavy tang of his own body from Vash's skin. "Fuck me now and you'll need to clean up again." 

"Will anyway," Vash said, and left his finger where it was, so Wolfwood sucked on it, the skin slightly wrinkled, soapy hints lingering where his tongue slid along the hard edge of nail. He stopped at the first sign of shift and change in Vash's eyes, the narrowing of focus, untangled their fingers to release Vash's hand. 

"Well, I feel shitty," he said, rolling away from Vash and onto his feet on the far side of the bed. 

"Tease," Vash protested mildly from behind him as he grabbed his towel. 

"Nah, that comes later," he promised, tipping his head and grinning slant-wise at Vash for the full effect. And, oh, Christ, Vash had twisted around to face him and was licking carefully along his own fingertip, all quick flashes of tongue between unmarked lips, that fucking flawless, _perfect_ mouth. Looking higher now to meet Vash's eyes, considering and deliberate as he watched and tasted Wolfwood from his own skin, and Wolfwood felt the jolt of it arc across the full width of the bed. 

He wondered if Vash was just playing this time, or if he was actively pushing Wolfwood into what he wanted. Sometimes he doubted if Vash even knew any more just how casually he manipulated people - personas on tap for every occasion, switching smoothly to whichever role would get Vash the result he was chasing. Not that he was so different himself, but he was still aware of every line he played out, every lie distinct from himself. 

The towel was rough, almost starched against the suddenly sensitised skin at his wrist. Shower. Right. He had sand scratching sharp between his toes and his shirt clung all down his spine, cloth reluctant to move even in the gusts from the window. 

"You really know how to work it, don't you?" 

If Vash heard the edge to his question, he didn't react to it. "You live a long time, you learn a few things," he said cheerfully. But he was just Vash again now, hand back at his side. "I'd have thought you'd appreciate the benefits of that by now." 

Just Vash, smiling naturally, and that was more than enough on its own. He wanted to touch him. 

Vash would still be there later. That wasn't changing yet. 

"Cocky bastard," he snorted. But Vash knew what made him hard, and what made him want. Vash combined tactics that tangled his body and his mind together into _needing_ in a way no-one else ever had. 

Vash grinned wider. "Only when it's justified." 

"Justified?" Wolfwood dug out his wash-bag. "You're an asshole." 

Vash made a noise somewhere between snorting and choking that would have been real unattractive from anyone else. "Not true! If I were, I'd be taking one of those blatant openings you just offered me, wouldn't I?" 

Wolfwood glared at him, but even Vash all irritatingly smug was still too... Vash... and he didn't look too long. He stalked from the room, the door closing between them with its pained, protesting squeal, cutting off the last of the sunlight. The landing was windowless, bare bulbs sparse along the length of the walls. He stood in the corridor a moment as his eyes adjusted to the altered light, then turned and headed for the shower. 

The room was still damp from Vash, water droplets clinging to the mirror amid the steam. The overall effect was cool, refreshing despite the humidity, and he stripped away his sticky clothes gratefully, leaving them in a pile where they dropped. The air touched the layers of sweat trapped on his skin, and he stretched up into it, feeling it everywhere. 

He turned on the water, stepping in before it started to warm and letting the shock of it on heated flesh revive him. He stood for just a minute, welcoming the flow of it over him, before water sense over-ruled indulgence and he reached for the soap, lathering himself quickly from the hair down. The water felt so good on him, cooling, the slickness of the soap on his hands and his body ridding him of sweat and sand. 

It would be so much better if he had Vash's slick hands on him, but that wasn't on offer. 

Vash still wouldn't fuck anywhere but a bed. Sometimes, even when it had been a slow day, he'd tense up, start to breathe steady and deliberate when things were getting heavy between them, and then he'd ask for the cuffs. 

Wolfwood wondered how it felt - to have that kind of power, to know it and fear it. Wondered how it all felt, really - the cuffs too. Something in Vash changed now just with the simple act of putting them on, his body calming, his muscles unlocking, the pressure fading from his eyes at the final click as Wolfwood secured him. It was so very different from his reactions that first time, the tightness that had almost lurched into panic. The cuffs worked with him now, pushed him someplace he'd deliberately trained himself into, more than just his body controlled. 

Vash wanted the sex, wanted it badly enough to do that, and seeing it made him so fucking hard. The fact that Vash _had_ to do that twisted tight inside him, almost into sickness.

If Vash wasn't so goddamn hot, he'd wonder how the hell his cock stayed up sometimes. 

Most times now, it was just sex between them, how it had always been. Only not, because something had changed there too. Vash's altered reactions when the cuffs were on had triggered a difference in his own, a difference he knew was still there now even when the cuffs weren't. Oh, it could still be fast, driven, needing. But it could be slower too, drawn out like sipping whisky, mellow without the burn. 

Sometimes he wanted that more. 

His hands were on his cock, drawing back the foreskin and soaping over the head, sliding fingers along a shaft that was already lengthening and hardening at the thoughts, at the touch. The water flowing warm over him, the soap keeping everything smooth, frictionless, barely feeling the calluses on his palm. Feeling instead the pull from his groin and the chemical shift in his brain. 

He wondered if Vash had jerked off in here, touching himself as the water washed the sweat from his skin, washed the evidence away into the drain. But then he got to thinking how many other guys had likely done the same thing in here, and it lost its appeal real fast. 

He could jerk off here in the shower and he'd enjoy it, yeah. But Vash was back in their room, clean skin over hard muscle, and likely just as horny as he was. 

Fucking Vash, or being fucked, he wanted him. Cuffs or not. Whichever way it happened. 

They'd spent the last two nights camped out in the desert, and that had put everything on hold. Heat, cold, bugs, boredom, and nothing to take the edge off, just enduring it all. Vash had offered to suck him a couple weeks back, on condition Wolfwood didn't touch him in return, but that kind of deal wasn't his thing. He didn't take that way, wouldn't do to Vash what he couldn't do for him. 

Except the thing with the cuffs. That was a strictly one-way arrangement. 

He shoved his head under the flow of the water, dragged his hands through his hair to rinse out the last of the soap. Eyes closed, feeling the liquid flow past him, the final few tangles catching at his fingers as he teased them out. When he opened them again, the water ran clear from his body, swirling and sparkling fresh into the drain. He kicked at the sand that had gathered underfoot until the last of it reluctantly disappeared into the plughole. He switched off the water and shook his head, ridding himself of the worst of the drops that trickled down onto his neck before he stepped from the shower. 

He stood naked while he shaved at the sink, wiping repeatedly at the steam on the mirror so he could see what he was doing and not slice himself up too bad. Vash somehow managed to dry shave out in the desert just by feel and never leave a mark. Wolfwood figured he'd get the knack of it too if he tried it, but saw no reason to bother. Shaving this way felt pretty good, with the water cool on him and getting rid of the mildly itchy crap on his chin. Anything else was just pain. 

He got to really brush his teeth for the first time in days, and that felt _great._ Aunt Melanie had always been big on hygiene. There were plenty of kids on this planet used to being filthy for days on end, but he hadn't been one of them. He enjoyed the whole process of stripping away the dirt that clung to a fucking homeless derelict and turning himself into a human being again. 

He liked knowing there was still something there she'd approve of. 

He grabbed his abandoned clothes and wrapped the towel round his waist for the walk back to the room. He wasn't all that likely to meet anyone in the hallway, and he didn't give a shit if someone got a look at him half-naked anyway. 

His feet left damp prints along the corridor, glowing in the electric light. He paused with his hand on the door handle, braced himself for that godawful noise, but the door swung open easily and blissfully silent. Vash must have oiled it. Maybe he could have done that himself earlier, but he'd been kind of busy being hot and sticky. 

Vash was stretched out across the whole bed, limbs spread wide as a thomas colt after a fall. His head was tipped back into the pillow, eyes closed beneath a mass of fluffy blond shifting in the breeze, throat arched. Sweat was already starting to rise on his skin above the high neck of his shirt. 

Vash didn't strip much with Wolfwood around, even now, except for sex. Likely a tough habit to get out of after so many years, but it still pissed him off. 

There must have been a time when he wasn't that way, when Vash had that body with those muscles, tight and compact, all stamina and flexibility and endless pale skin, and he must have been fucking _perfect._ Except not. Wolfwood couldn't see it, couldn't get the idea to sit right in his head. Vash was crazy, reckless and flawed, that was who he was, and how Wolfwood wanted him. 

Wanted him, yeah. He wanted to suck on his throat, to lick at the sweat there. He'd been half-hard on and off since before the shower, and Vash was sprawled across the bed in a way that was probably all about the heat, but looked like invitation. 

Vash turned his head to watch him, eyes travelling over him slow and obvious, and okay, that one was definitely invitation. 

One more of those nights with Vash, their bodies pressing close and Vash's lips on his skin, and something that could almost be right. 

One day less before they finally reached Knives, and the last frayed threads of his lies were dragged apart for everyone involved to really see. 

Vash propped himself up on one elbow and grinned up at him. "If you're going to look at me like that, you should get over here and do something about it." 

Vash had allowed his evasions, forgiven him the killings. 

Wolfwood covered the few strides to the bed, perching his hip on the edge and half-leaning over him. "Sometimes, Tongari, that crazy head of yours comes up with a damn good idea." 

Vash would understand how it was. 

Vash would be okay with him. 

He _would. _

"And you thought I was just another pretty face." Vash pushed out his lower lip and blew strands of hair away from his eyes, half of them settling right back again. He looked about Wolfwood's age. Looked younger, because Wolfwood knew he'd be taken for mid-thirties himself now. 

"Well, that does help," Wolfwood smirked. Closed the gap and kissed him, lips soft and warm and smooth against his own, Vash's arms coming up around his body, fingers stroking light over his skin. That wouldn't last. Vash always fired up fast and started to push further, but Wolfwood liked him that way too. 

Vash's shirt brushed soft along his ribs, cloth finely woven and perfectly smooth as Vash's hands roamed over him. Wolfwood slid a hand up beneath it, preferring the harsher textures of Vash's skin, the familiar ridges and patterns along his flanks, the reality of the man better than anything he chose to hide behind. The kiss was toothpaste and unhurried tongues, the touching warm. It was good like this, just them, no cuffs on Vash to push Wolfwood into something he wasn't. 

Vash's hand was in his hair now, more holding than stroking, their mouths meeting harder, Vash's body curling towards him. He was never much for being still at the best of times, wriggled more through the night than anyone else Wolfwood had ever shared a bed with. There was no chance of him being anything less than active in sex, and Wolfwood encouraged him anyway, liked drawing the reactions from him. 

He eased more of his weight onto the bed, lifting his legs to stretch full length with Vash, shifting forwards over him and rolling his hips down. The contact shivered through both of them, Vash's hand tensing on his hip with a quick hint of nails, his own pushing higher beneath the shirt. Cloth caught at his wrist, was carried upwards to expose skin, his fingers stroking over gridwork to the hollow of Vash's collarbone. His other hand slid behind Vash's neck, tipping his head gently, his mouth licking down his jaw and sucking at his neck like he'd wanted, yeah, teeth teasing at his ear-ring, cold metallic taste instead of clean, salt sweat, but it made Vash twitch against him in really interesting ways. His tongue flicked around behind the lobe and his mouth moved on lower, seeking out a certain hollow, a spot right... 

_There. _

Vash's knee came up alongside his, the muscles beneath him tightening, and Wolfwood let his weight fall with it as Vash shifted and rolled. Vash over him now, body pressing down into him, tongue pushing against his own, his erection shifting against the obvious hardness in Vash's jeans, denim rough and tight against him, and it felt fucking amazing. Hot. Real. Always did. Always would. 

For as long as he still had him. 

His hand on the taut skin of Vash's back, his hand on the curve of Vash's ass through the cloth, pulling Vash closer, wanting Vash more, like always. Whatever the hell else went on, he always wanted Vash. 

Always would. 

Wolfwood reached over, lifted the cuffs from the table with a distinctive harsh rattle. 

Vash stilled his hands and drew back a ways, stared at him, confused, questioning. 

He held the cuffs out towards Vash. "Put them on me." 

No change in Vash, in his face, no understanding. "Why?" 

Wolfwood shrugged, deliberately casual. "I want to." 

Vash was studying him now, openly curious, his head tilting slightly, strands of blond shifting in front of his eyes. "Why?" 

That figured. Vash never agreed to anything without a goddamn argument first, not even what flavour of pizza to share. "Why not? You do it." 

Vash was shaking his head almost as he finished speaking. "That's a lousy reason to do anything, Wolfwood." 

"I didn't say that." 

"You didn't have to." Vash sat right back onto his knees. "I don't have a choice, Wolfwood." 

"You damn well do! You just think you don't! And I've got a choice too, and I'm making it." He thrust his hand out, the chain shifting in his grip. "Put them on me." 

"No." Vash's voice was flat, uncompromising. 

Vash was so damn hot on having reasons for everything – fine, he'd turn it around on him. "Why not?" 

"You're tense just talking about it." 

"I'm tense _arguing_ about it, there's a difference!" 

"So we stop arguing," countered Vash, up on his feet and reaching for the holster slung over the back of a chair. "I'm headed for the bar if you're coming." 

Wolfwood followed him across the room, fast, grabbing his wrist. "Like hell, you're gonna stay till you give me a real answer!" 

Vash twisted his arm up sharply, round and out of Wolfwood's grip, his fist circling back _so damn fast_ and stopping just short of Wolfwood's neck. "No. I'm not," he said, and Wolfwood saw enough of that careful control there that he let it go. Backed off and gave Vash the space. 

Vash tucked the revolver into the waistband of his jeans and left the shirt loose over it. Bent to tug on socks and boots, and for once Wolfwood wasn't really appreciating the view of his ass. Vash straightened and was gone from the room, silent but for the careful click of the door closing after him. 

Wolfwood sat on the bed and reached for his cigarettes.

*****

Vash took another sip of his beer, peering down through the liquid, translucent, golden-dark, to the depressingly close bottom of the glass.

He wasn't going to drink any more. Just the one it had taken to get him a seat at the bar. When he'd been drinking seriously the last time, with those two guys they'd saved from a lynching, that energy had started to escape him again, uncoiling fast and startling from inside almost before he'd felt it move. 

He'd stayed sober since. Just at a time when there was real temptation in getting thoroughly hammered so he could finally stop thinking, it was another thing he couldn't let himself do. 

The only thing that let him forget now was the sex. 

He hadn't solved anything there. Wolfwood was a stubborn bastard, and it wouldn't be dropped. The idea was in his head that he was going to do it, and Vash knew he wouldn't be able to walk out the next time. 

He could likely avoid it for tonight, though. Convince Wolfwood to delay it till tomorrow – okay, not tomorrow, they'd be stuck out in the desert again. Next hotel, anyway. That would give him time to talk around it some as they travelled, fish out more of what was going on in Wolfwood's head. And for now, for tonight, he could just have Wolfwood, moving warm and close and slow against him in that room upstairs. 

He needed to know that was there. 

The light was drawing back outside now, the jaundiced glow of electrics taking over the bar, stark and unnatural. He drained the last of the beer from his glass, figuring he should get out before the bar started to fill. He wasn't in the mood for noise, for watching other people drink and laugh. 

Two flights of stairs between him and the room, two flights creaking underfoot as he tried to think just what to say. 'Hey, Wolfwood, can we just have sex tonight and argue tomorrow?' wasn't going to be a great approach. Something about... something about needing to get his head in the right space.... That wasn't even so far from the truth. 

He paused some way along the corridor from the door. Stopping right outside would make Wolfwood jumpy, and facing down a .45 would be a bad way to start this. 

He hoped Wolfwood was in the mood to listen. He usually snapped back fast from their rows, but lately he was less predictable. 

To be fair, it wasn't just Wolfwood. They'd both been kind of up and down. 

Sometimes he just got so tired. 

Wolfwood helped with that. 

He stepped forward to the door, opened it, walked in. "Wolfwood, I -" 

_Wolfwood. _

He lay sprawled across the bed. He was naked, his hands resting on the pillow above him, metallic glint at his wrists. _Of all the stupid, fucking stubborn.... _

But god, he looked incredible. The room's single bulb cast harsh light over him, a contrast of golden skin and deep, stark shadow marking the lines of his body. Every muscle and rib of his torso was outlined where his skin stretched taut across them, the scattering of hair across his chest matching the darkness where his body curved down into the bed-sheets. The handcuffs crossed his wrists in lines of glowing silver. 

And he was hard. 

Wolfwood tilted his head on the pillow, Vash's eyes following the movement, travelling up his body to meet Wolfwood's gaze. Expecting challenge and finding only patient compliance. 

The window was closed now, the room utterly still, just the low burble of voices from the next hotel room somewhere in his consciousness, and Wolfwood's eyes. 

Vash got so damn hard when Wolfwood willingly played the submissive for him. Not because he liked submissive, but because it was _Wolfwood,_ who wasn't like that at all, and would only be that for Vash. Watching this man deliberately strip away all the competitiveness that normally marked their relationship and simply relax and accept and wait underneath him... it didn't happen often that way, but when it did, Vash's usual level of hunger for him flared into something close to starvation. 

This... this was.... 

He knew Wolfwood didn't want it like this. This was about evening the stakes. He knew it, and it didn't stop him looking, and wanting, his cock hardening fast and tight against his jeans. 

Shit.

Three strides across the room to the bed, reaching for the darker gleaming metal at Wolfwood's hand. The touch of fingers was a simple, fascinating thing as he uncurled Wolfwood's grip from the .45, unopposed, taking the gun with a soft brush of skin over skin. He flicked the safety across and set it on the table. 

"Good to have you back, Tongari," Wolfwood said mildly; no obvious bite or humour behind it, just a statement. Vash ignored it and began checking the handcuffs. The ratchets were engaged, but the push-pins were still raised. Wolfwood had been able to cuff himself, but there was no way for him to reach around to set the double lock. 

Fuck. "You know the damage these things can do." His own voice sounded flat and close in his ears. 

"If they're too tight, yeah." Wolfwood's reply was irritatingly calm. "I didn't move, so no problem." 

Vash slid his fingertips between the cuffs and Wolfwood's wrists, metal pressing hard into his skin as he deliberately avoided _touching_, but the brush of tiny hairs was still there against him, gentle and so distinct. He found the cuffs loose enough and worked the push-pins to hold the ratchets. Wolfwood lay still and made no comment, simply watching him, oddly unruffled. 

Vash straightened, away from Wolfwood, standing by the bed, detached. "Where are the keys, Wolfwood?" 

"You don't need to know that till later." 

Wolfwood's tone stayed completely even, the answer fast and smooth – oh, yeah, Wolfwood had this planned. Vash narrowed his eyes. "I could walk out of here. Go back to the bar, see how you feel in a few hours." 

"You could," Wolfwood admitted with a not-quite-smile, small and twisted, "but you won't." 

No, he wouldn't. He didn't actually know if that was more because he wouldn't leave Wolfwood bound like this or because he had a hard-on and Wolfwood was fantastically naked, offering everything. 

The bulb behind him threw his shadow over Wolfwood, his outline stark across Wolfwood's chest, curving along the sweep of his belly and up over one shoulder. His shadow lay where his body wanted to be, his hand by Wolfwood's thigh, his mouth on Wolfwood's jaw, Wolfwood pressed beneath him and entirely _his. _

He wondered if Wolfwood had felt this, watching him naked and chained. 

Wondered if Wolfwood had despised himself for feeling it. 

God, everything around him always got so twisted. Why couldn't he ever have anything that wasn't fucked up? 

"Okay." Wolfwood looked up at him, expression sharp. "If you want it, you'll get it," Vash elaborated, "but you tell me where you put the keys first." When Wolfwood was deliberately hiding something, there was no point in looking. 

Wolfwood's eyes were narrowed, cautious. "You're not uncuffing me till after you fuck me." 

Typical Wolfwood, blunt and too confining. "I'm not uncuffing you till you ask me to," Vash offered. 

Wolfwood paused a moment, considering, before the lines around his eyes smoothed out, as much as they ever did now. "Bedside table, in the drawer," he said. 

Right there at the front, yeah, next to the obligatory religious books, the two small keys glinting at him as the drawer opened with a creak. He scooped them up, turned to stare back at Wolfwood. "That was a bit obvious." 

Wolfwood shrugged, the movement more in his arms than in his shoulders. "I knew you wouldn't look." 

It could have been a risk, but he had to admit Wolfwood had called it right. He put the keys on the table next to the gun, in easy reach, settled his ass on the bed next to Wolfwood's hips. "You're an idiot. I could have been gone for hours." 

Wolfwood's lip curled into a smirk. "That would be a hell of a long time to stretch out one beer." 

Vash grinned. "I'm surprised you'd risk going even an hour or two without a cigarette." 

"Smoked a couple before I cuffed myself," Wolfwood admitted. 

Wolfwood held his eyes easily, no outward sign of any tension in him. Vash himself was oddly calmer now, with the easy conversation, with the decision made. "Want one?" he asked. 

"Yeah." 

Vash reached for the pack on the bedside table, drew out a cigarette and held it to Wolfwood's mouth. His lips were dry and slightly rough against his fingers as he took it. Vash struck a match, Wolfwood tilting the cigarette down towards his chin for a better angle as Vash held the flame to it. Sharp orange glow and familiar harsh scent as Wolfwood drew on it, and Vash shook out the match. 

"Thanks." Wolfwood exhaled a cloud of smoke as he spoke around the cigarette. 

Vash grinned wide, deliberately toothy. "I don't want you distracted later." 

"If I'm distracted, you're doing a lousy job." 

"That a challenge?" 

"Every time." 

The smoke curled upwards, a casual spiral of haze expanding out as it rose until its form was lost in the stretch of the room. Wolfwood's lips formed perfect arcs where they met around the filter, the suns-darkened temptation of his chest rising with a distinctive double-hitch as he drew in smoke, his exhales smooth, slow, deliberate. Vash's awareness of the sex was constant, of his own hardness pushing within his jeans, of Wolfwood's within easy reach and ready to be touched. 

Vash took the cigarette from him a couple of times, flicking the lengthening column of grey into the ashtray. He let his fingers rest against Wolfwood's lips a little too long, but other than that he stayed hands off, just watched as the drug relaxed Wolfwood further, his eyes half-closed as he smoked. 

He was determined not to make the same mistakes they'd made that first time he was cuffed. Nothing fast or pushy, nothing that could make Wolfwood feel trapped, smothered. 

But how could he possibly _avoid_ Wolfwood feeling trapped when he was chained down? 

Vash took the cigarette again when it was only half burned and killed it in the ashtray. 

"Hey!" Wolfwood objected, his eyes opening fully. "I wasn't done with that!" 

"Yeah, you were," Vash smiled, and leaned down to brush his lower lip over Wolfwood's, his tongue flicking out to run lightly along the seam of his lips. Wolfwood's mouth opened instantly beneath him, first touch of tongue against his own, but Vash was already pulling away, sitting back. 

Wolfwood's brow creased slightly. "Is that all I get? It's a lousy deal for wasting a smoke." 

Vash grinned. "Greedy." 

"You would be too if you'd been waiting like this." Wolfwood's gaze flicked down his own body to where his cock lay hard and dark against his skin, Vash's eyes following, yeah, wanting, and... when he looked back up, Wolfwood was smirking again and staring obviously at Vash's crotch. 

Point taken. 

Vash groped beneath his shirt and pulled the revolver from his waistband, laying it on the table with Wolfwood's gun. His other hand was already reaching out to Wolfwood, sensors bringing him the heat of his skin, the raised patterns of veins over muscle as he traced a slow path along Wolfwood's arm. Both hands on Wolfwood now, steady, gliding contact, exploring again this man he knew; the slope of throat to shoulder, the ridge of his collarbone, the light roughness of hair curling along his thigh. Wolfwood watched him, lazy and sensual with half-lowered lids, and Vash was absorbed by each aspect of his presence. 

It was odd, like this, touching Wolfwood without the feel of Wolfwood's hands on his own body in return. It never happened beyond the most casual of contacts, reciprocity always fast, ardent. Oh, Wolfwood was responding, the twitch of his skin, the press of his body into Vash's hands, but part of the connection was missing. 

Normally the pace between them adjusted naturally as both reacted to the patterns of the other's touches, the where, the changing grip and pressure of fingers with increasing need. Now there was just Vash, making decisions about what to do to Wolfwood and when. 

He didn't know where to start with this, didn't even know whether he should take his damn clothes off yet. If he stripped, he instantly made this all about sex, about _fucking_ Wolfwood. But him being dressed while Wolfwood was naked, that could be a power statement just on its own, and there were enough of those here already. 

_Wolfwood all sex and sweat and skin beneath his fingers, and "I couldn't have done it." _

Shit. He couldn't possibly deal with this. He had no idea what he was doing, no clue about the trip-wires in Wolfwood's head. 

But Wolfwood hadn't known, either, with him, and they'd made it work. Between them, they'd figured it out, how to make it okay. He'd just have to... feel his way along. 

He sat back fully, grabbed his shirt at the waist, peeling it off over his head in a single smooth, fast movement. He couldn't know about the clothes, so he'd make a gesture, go half-way and then take his cues from Wolfwood. 

He could read Wolfwood well enough, knew his body and his movements. If he took it slow, and watched, he should see the things Wolfwood wouldn't tell him. 

Except that got harder when Wolfwood knew it and was deliberately hiding things. And Vash was fairly sure he was going to do that. 

Okay, so he was going to have a work a little to get this right. Fine, he'd do that, whatever it took. So far Wolfwood's reaction to half-naked Vash seemed entirely positive, muscles languid, his eyes roaming over his body in the way that usually led his hands to follow. Vash knew the frustration that ached from that, the desire to touch rising and consistently balked, and maybe he could.... 

He stretched himself flat along the bed, wriggled forward over the rough stroke of blanket to press himself alongside Wolfwood. Contact, as much as he could give it, his cheek half-resting on Wolfwood's shoulder, his chest settling into his ribs, skin against skin without weighing down. He slid a hand beneath Wolfwood's upraised arm to his cheek, leaned in further to kiss him as Wolfwood's head turned into the touch. Wolfwood's body was relaxed beneath his fingers, lips warm and smoky on his own, tongue soft and gently questing, everything slow and enticing like he'd visualised it back down in the bar. So tempting to close his eyes and feel it, be drawn into it and away from the edges, and he couldn't let himself have it, not this time. This was about Wolfwood, and he had to watch, had to know. 

Wolfwood's eyes stayed open, loose and hazy on him, edged by dark lashes and harsh lines. Humans couldn't focus this close, but Vash saw all the details, the flaws, the regular pattern of pores on his skin, the few small hairs that strayed above the curve of his eyebrow. Wolfwood's nose moved light against his cheek as the angle of their lips adjusted, and this was all happening so easily despite his doubts. He wanted more of Wolfwood's skin than that beneath his hands, against his chest, and the press of Wolfwood's body into him suggested the same. 

He brought one hand down between them, working open the fastenings of his jeans as Wolfwood opened his mouth to his, sliding his fingers inside to part cloth and ease underwear past his erection, Wolfwood's tongue brushing velvet-soft over his lips. He drew back from the kiss while he lifted his hips and pushed everything lower, the denim rubbing all along his thighs and Wolfwood's. Wolfwood's breath was warm on his cheek, eyes hotter on his lips, and he kicked the clothes off from below his knees, grateful he wore his jeans loose. 

He settled back into the sheets, realigning his body with Wolfwood's, ribs shifting beside ribs as they breathed together, hooking an ankle over Wolfwood and tangling their legs. He held only his hips back, not wanting the obvious press of his cock into Wolfwood, still reluctant to make this more about the sex than the touching. Wolfwood's head was tipped his way, watching his movements, and Vash moved in to kiss him again, circling his tongue along Wolfwood 's lower lip, pulling away a little teasingly as Wolfwood's moved to follow his own. Wolfwood pressed forward, chasing, lips parting harder and hungrier, the muscles beneath his hand gaining new definition as they pulled taut, and Vash eased it back again, holding it slower, softer. 

The edge of Wolfwood's mouth curled sharp and deliberate. "I'd planned on fucking you, Tongari, not your virgin aunt." 

Vash drew back, Wolfwood's eyes on him dark and insistent, the lines around them a little deeper. 

Maybe he'd called it wrong. This approach was stretching it out, keeping Wolfwood chained too long. Maybe it was better just to do it, get it over and then let Wolfwood go. 

Except... that didn't feel quite right. The tension now in Wolfwood's body, stronger along the path of his fingers, was different from the tightening of lust, the reaction of muscles to touch. Different too from the impatience, the anger that surfaced so quickly within him and locked his body in very specific ways, still loose and ready to fight where it mattered. Hard to describe the changes, the subtleties, but something was there in the signals and this... 

This was going to go wrong. Badly wrong. 

_Shit_. He couldn't let it, couldn't let this get broken, not now, there had to be a way to fix it. There always was between them. He just had to find it, get them through this once and then – 

His voice. Wolfwood had talked to him, and that had helped, that had _mattered_, made it more about the man he was with and not the circumstances. Wolfwood had given him a focus on everything that was right about this. He opened his mouth to speak and... 

He didn't know what to say. 

He could talk all day to strangers about idiocies. He could talk to Wolfwood, his friend, speak to him sometimes about the deepest pains and fears he locked inside himself. He had no idea what to say to a lover. It had been so long since he'd done that kind of intimacy, and he'd never been much good at it even then. 

Another shift beneath his hand where it lay still on Wolfwood's thigh, the slight scratch of hair against his palm, and Wolfwood's eyes on him narrowed further. "Stop pissing around and fuck me, Tongari!" 

Wolfwood's breathing was slightly fast, slightly shallow, expression and body language screaming annoyance and frustration, and something else, something deeper and poorly controlled.... 

It didn't matter what he said, it wasn't important. 

He dropped his lips to Wolfwood's temple, non-sexual, non-threatening, mouth moving lightly over his skin as he spoke. "Hey, Wolfwood, you know you're making me feel like a complete frickin' idiot, right?" he murmured. Close enough to true and closer to normal. "I'm gonna want payback for this later, Wolfwood. Getting me playing games that bored people mess with for kicks and babbling on like a fool...." 

Wolfwood there beneath his stroking fingers, his arm, his hip, flesh taut and wrong against him, and he needed the words to keep flowing. "Aw, shit, how do normal people do this stuff? But look who I'm asking. Wolfwood the great romantic." Vash's lips curved against the lines by Wolfwood's eyes, his name the most natural thing to say through the focus on keeping himself steady. "You're probably the only person worse than I am at this crap." 

Words. Words spoken fast through the smile on his lips, low and melding, and maybe, hopefully, Wolfwood couldn't tell what he was rambling on about, and it didn't matter much either way, Wolfwood's hair soft shampoo and smoke against his nose as he kissed higher, his eyes closed against the uncombed strands. 

Wolfwood's body was slowly changing beneath his hand as he spoke, muscle unclenching against him, his head tilting deliberately into his lips. Vash stretched a little more over him, letting his mouth travel further across Wolfwood's forehead, his own frame easing along with Wolfwood's, self-consciousness at the steady flow of speech drifting loose in the contact, the familiarity, the desire innate in the touching. He could probably get away with finishing this quickly now, just jerk Wolfwood off fast and smooth, or maybe with his mouth, keep it relaxed and steady, safe. 

Vash slid his hand up over Wolfwood's hip, light and slow, ran his fingers teasing up Wolfwood's cock to the tip, skin so soft here while much of Wolfwood was hardened and calloused and suns-blasted. And Wolfwood jolted into instant rigidity beneath him, dark eyes on his taut, unwavering, and utterly unrevealing. 

He didn't need to see it, the blankness so thoroughly tactile in itself. Wolfwood didn't want this, didn't want any of it. Almost certainly couldn't be persuaded to want it. Was determined to do it to himself anyway. 

He'd agreed not to stop. Not until Wolfwood asked. 

_Fuck. _

Okay, that was valid, but it wasn't helping any. God, how could he handle this? He had to _think. _

He wasn't going to fuck Wolfwood, wasn't going to do anything sexual to a man, a friend, who didn't want him, not ever. That was inflexible. 

If Wolfwood wouldn't give, then he would have to, even if it fractured their trust. Even if it fractured everything. Hope like hell he could deal with the fallout of that later. 

_Oh, god. _

His head dropped down onto Wolfwood's shoulder, soap and Wolfwood beneath his nose, against his cheek, words whispered fast into his skin. "You don't have to do this, Wolfwood, doesn't matter to me, 's not important, Wolfwood, okay?" 

_Call it off, Wolfwood. Call it off, now. _

His mind flared out, energy concentrated with the words Wolfwood would never accept spoken aloud, desperate to connect and unable to reach. Pointless, he knew, he did, but it was becoming more instinctive now for his inner self to flow this way. It wasn't emptiness he met, feeling the shape of someone there, so familiar, but Wolfwood always oblivious, unresponsive, a closed loop of consciousness somewhere on his periphery. The assurances from his lips, the plea from his thoughts, and no response to read from the uniform grey sheen of a sealed mind, no pattern except the reflection of himself, almost metallic in intensity. 

"Doesn't matter, Wolfwood, none of this shit, 's not what it's about, just what you want, Wolfwood, that's all." 

_Stop this, Wolfwood, stop it **please.** _

Wolfwood's body stiffened alongside his, shivered once through the whole length of him, then locked rigid again. 

Vash froze. 

"Let me go." Wolfwood's voice was low and hard, and too well known: Wolfwood on the edge of control. 

It was over, done now, he could end it, _thank god, thank god_, and still no real feeling of relief, not with Wolfwood like this. He felt fast for the keys on the table, watching Wolfwood, Wolfwood's eyes closed tight, pressure outlined along his jaw. His gun, Wolfwood's, and _where the hell did the keys go? _

A familiar metallic scrape, the drag of chain against bedframe. "Just a sec, hang on just a sec, okay?" He half sat up, both hands shoving things aside on the table now. They barely owned anything between them, what the hell was all this junk doing here? 

_There_, trapped between the pistol barrel and the ashtray. He grabbed the keys, reached for Wolfwood's wrists – Wolfwood's wrists pulled taut against the cuffs now, the metal dragged up across his hands and pressing deep into the skin. 

"Get. Me. Out." Wolfwood's eyes were open now, staring in harsh, deadly anger, and more. 

"Wolfwood, I can't get to the lock. It's angled wrong." Ruthless concentration in keeping his voice steady, unstressed. "I'm going to untie you, but I've got to twist the cuff around, so I need you to ease up a bit, okay?" 

Wolfwood watched him, seeing him, yeah, but completely taut. 

Fuck. He couldn't just start tugging at Wolfwood's wrists. He didn't even know if he could _touch_ him. 

He sat back further, crossed his arms and grinned over at Wolfwood. "Hey, Wolfwood, you know people are gonna talk if you give yourself marks like _that._" He winked, slow and exaggerated. "And besides, you're way too cute for bruises." 

Something, a change in his eyes first, less pressure. Metal sounded lightly against metal, the distinctive settling of links in the chain as the cuffs slackened around Wolfwood's wrists. 

"About time!" Vash said cheerfully. "Now we can get this damn idiocy over with. And next time I'm vetoing your stupid ideas no matter how good you look, got it?" He stretched out on the bed again and reached upwards, alongside Wolfwood, not touching, not crowding. "And don't start wriggling, you're annoying enough as you are." He took hold of the cuff on the nearest hand, careful, tilting it gently towards him and trying not to press on Wolfwood's skin with either metal or his own touch. Scratching, uncertain contact of key with lock, his hand almost shaking as he twisted, _damn_, and then the cuff was off and Wolfwood snatched his hand away fast, drawing back to sit bolt upright, a harsh rattle as the chain jerked from around the bedpost, the loose cuff almost snagging before finally breaking free. 

Vash held out his hand toward him. "Here." Wolfwood grabbed for the key he offered, a line of raw skin clearly visible scraped across the back of his hand. He pushed it viciously into the lock at his other wrist and the handcuffs dropped away on to the bed. 

Wolfwood looked at his hands for a moment, turned to stare over at Vash. "Thanks," he said, voice harsh, edged, eyes a tangled, shifting confusion, unreadable. 

And then Wolfwood moved, fast and hard, Wolfwood's hands at his shoulders, Wolfwood's weight pushing him back, down onto the sheets and holding him. 

Yeah. 

Not surprising that Wolfwood needed to have the control. Not surprising and not unwanted either. 

Wolfwood was going to fuck him now, fuck him hard, and he was going to like it. 

Wolfwood's tongue was in his mouth, deliberate, insistent, and Vash met it with his own, a little lighter, his hands running down Wolfwood's flanks and hips, pulling him closer, easing his legs around Wolfwood's in silent acceptance. Sex as something fast and violent between them was hardly new, and his body had long since decided that anything he got from Wolfwood was good. Even chained, with his hands bound above him and no sense of control, it was good. 

Wolfwood's mouth left his after just moments, as he drew back and reached over to the table for the lube. Squeezed it onto his hand and slicked it over the length of his cock, twitching at the first contact of it. Vash slid his ankles onto Wolfwood's shoulders, and Wolfwood pushed greased fingers down behind his balls and into him, cold shock and pleasure as his hand pressed and twisted, oiling him fast and then gone. 

Cock at his body now, a pressure and a give, steady, and astoundingly careful. 

He hooked an arm up around Wolfwood's neck and tugged his head lower. "What the hell are you waiting for?" he said. "I can take it." A hiss of air as Wolfwood inhaled fast, and _pushed. _

_In_, yeah, in and moving, and sometimes, his body shaking and tightening with the pleasure of it, Vash would start to wonder why he ever wanted to fuck Wolfwood when he could have this. It was never more than a moment, and then he would catch Wolfwood's eyes, the way he watched him, lustful, and something almost like possession. He would remember Wolfwood, arrogant and driven, remember pushing that arrogance into need and desperate words with his body, and it was a rush like very few others. 

Wolfwood was fucking him hard, lost in it, his eyes half-closed, and making no attempt to touch him. Vash put his hand to his own cock for what he needed, curling his fingers round himself for the _grip_ and the _slide_, the extra push to get him what he was reaching for, close.... 

Wolfwood's fingers were fast and tight on his wrist, not so lost after all as he pulled Vash's hand away from himself. Still moving within him, keeping his rhythm as he reversed his grip and pushed Vash's hand down to the bed, holding him. Quick flicker and twist inside Vash's gut at the action, but it was Wolfwood and his mind over-rode it, trust instant and unconditional. 

Still the _jolt_ of Wolfwood's cock pressing inside him, the shiver through his nerves, the expectation of release that came with the sensation of it, but he wasn't ever going to _come_ this way, desire and urgency and frustration like flame, and never fighting Wolfwood's grip on him, his other hand staying tight on Wolfwood's skin. Wolfwood moving faster, disrupted, finally breaking into shudders as his fingers clutched tighter and he cried out soft and low. 

Vash left so wanting, still needing, as Wolfwood pulled out of him, Wolfwood's hand still fast on his pinned arm, wondering where this was going from here. Until Wolfwood grabbed hold of his other arm and flipped them over, his eyes staring up determined into Vash's. "Your turn," he said, fingers still gripping hard above Vash's elbows, no distinction between flesh and synthetic. "Fuck me." His knees and hips flexed up and back, opening himself. 

Always like this with Wolfwood, yeah, if he took, he gave. Part of the way it had to be, and he wanted, god, he wanted him, Wolfwood shadowed beneath him, sweat-slick and always inflexible in his demands. _God. _

Wolfwood's fingers tightened further at his inaction, painful now, and that didn't matter, Vash reaching for the lube and coating himself fast. Pushing into Wolfwood steady, firm, knowing there would be no real resistance from his body. 

He wanted to make it slow, draw it out, give Wolfwood time to recover and harden again, but he couldn't, not with Wolfwood's eyes staring and telling him as clearly as his voice that he wanted it to be _now_. Wolfwood wanting it the same way he'd given it, wanting him, _really_ wanting him, so distinct from the gritted determination of earlier, and so necessary. 

Fully inside Wolfwood, and everything so slick, leaning forward for his mouth, Wolfwood meeting him, fierce, with fast, insistent tongue. Vash hooked a hand into his hair, holding him, slowing it just a little. As much as his own hunger and that heated energy inside him would allow. Cracked lips and the taste of cigarettes drove him just as hard as the tight, living hold around his cock, and this could all be over in seconds, and he wanted to keep it longer, those few moments longer. 

Wolfwood's cock lay trapped against his belly, softer and smaller than he was used to, and likely that bit sensitive. He drew back, ending the kiss, releasing Wolfwood's cock from the pressure, both of them open-mouthed and sucking in air. His fingers still clutched at Wolfwood's hair, soft and clean, tangled in the lingering dampness where his head had rested against the pillow since his shower. 

He wanted to keep this longer, and he couldn't, he _couldn't_, Wolfwood's eyes on him dark and urgent, increasing the demands of lust and swirling power. If he fought it now, that energy would break out of him, he knew, but when he gave it space and freedom, it stayed with him, willing to run where he steered it. And he steered it into the sex. Steered it into Wolfwood wanting him, wanting his body, into the contact, the feeling of Wolfwood pushing to meet him as he sank himself repeatedly into the heat of him. Steered it into the sensations in his head, everything brightening with the glow of it, the yellow tinge of dull electric light flaring gold, his mind stretching out and feeling the shape of Wolfwood close, right there, Vash spreading thought along all the impenetrable edges of who he was. Edges that shimmered beneath him, then changed, shimmered with more than just the mirror of himself, until he could almost, almost _touch_ Wolfwood needing him. And then he choked and cracked, coming hard and wonderfully, and it was fading, all of it. Fading fast, too fast, but so incredibly _real_ while it had been there. 

His body and his mind eased back together from the exertion, relaxed and calm. 

He'd been so close, so damn close to reaching something of Wolfwood's mind, closer than he'd ever known he could get with someone who couldn't meet him halfway. So _right_ in those moments, and no sadness in the loss of it because he could have it again. Knowing what to feel for, next time he could aim for it. 

Everything he had was getting stronger. Everything. Some of it amazing, and some of it wild, and all of it fierce and exponential. 

He wondered just when it would all stop. There had to be a limit to it somewhere. 

There had to be, because he didn't know how much more he could keep safe. 

Wolfwood poked him hard in the ribs. "Hey, Tongari, when you gonna get the hell off of me?" 

He was sprawled across Wolfwood, the full weight of him, his face resting against his chest as it rose and fell beneath him. "Okay, don't whine." 

"Fuck whining! You're damn heavy and your metal shit's digging in my ribs." 

"Your plan, you don't get to bitch." Vash lay a second longer, Wolfwood's body and scent touching him everywhere, Wolfwood's hand resting light on his shoulder. He tightened his muscles to push off and the hand was gone, nothing to impede him as he pulled away. But not far, settling on his side, watching Wolfwood's profile as he lay unmoving, looking upwards through half-closed eyes. 

Wolfwood wouldn't say anything now. This evening, all of it, would be a non-thing. Like so many other things they both knew were there and had somehow agreed not to disturb. 

So many bad decisions today, and maybe it would be better to ignore it. 

He didn't want to ignore it. 

Words chosen carefully, spoken slow but unstressed. "I always knew I could get out. If I really wanted to." 

Wolfwood's head turned towards him, no tightening of lips or jaw, eyes steady. "Yeah." 

Nothing more, but he didn't need it. It was okay, wasn't going to become some _thing_ to flare up between them later. 

He wriggled in gently, closer to Wolfwood, blanket weave coarse against his skin and cool to Wolfwood's warmth. Wolfwood shifted slightly to meet him, limbs arranging themselves automatically into a pattern that stayed comfortable. And then Wolfwood was drawing back, expression hard, his hand gone from Vash's hip. 

There was a metallic chink, and Wolfwood pulled the handcuffs out from underneath him. He hurled them across the room to slide over the floorboards as they landed, rattling loud and unpleasantly. "I'm not putting those on you again." There was a finality in his tone Vash rarely heard. 

"You won't have to." 

It would be the truth, one way or another. For now, how things were, it was okay, he knew he had control. Until something else changed, until another thing happened that was new and different and he had to learn to fight that too. Things were developing too fast now for him to believe this was the end of it. 

That other possibility was still there, of drawing back, away from Wolfwood. 

Only if he had to. Not a choice. Not any more. 

They had another couple of weeks before they reached Knives anyway, at most. Everything after that was just questions. 

He didn't know how he'd feel if he killed his brother. He knew he might do it – when he thought about what Knives had done, when the rage came fast and white and utterly overwhelming, he _wanted_ to do it, wanted to destroy him and everything, everyone, tainted around him. 

Afterwards, though... he just didn't know. 

Of course, he might be the dead one. The thought didn't actually feel odd after so long of being alive. Only the thought that if he died, most likely so did everyone. 

And if they won, if they defeated Knives, dead or not – Knives was Wolfwood's mission, the reason he'd come looking for Vash. He would always be Vash the Stampede. Wolfwood had choices, ones with far fewer bullets. 

Wolfwood shifted against him, the movement of limbs, of skin, along his own. "Tongari?" 

He opened his eyes to find Wolfwood's on him. "Yeah?" 

"You okay with...?" 

He wasn't okay with anything more than two weeks. Too many ways of losing. Every way was losing. 

Wolfwood was still talking about the cuffs. He smiled. "Yeah. I'm just...." Thinking. 

"Yeah." Only part of a return smile, Wolfwood's eyes still searching. Vash closed his eyes against it. Wolfwood's hair brushed in soft against his cheek, the weight of his head pressing forwards. 

His arm lay along Wolfwood's waist, down onto his hip, Wolfwood breathing out soft and long. A rhythm beneath his touch, a warmth against his neck. 

Vash felt him, and stopped thinking.


End file.
